


Little Vices

by MorningsofGold



Category: Christian Bible, Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Blasphemy kink, Blowjobs, D/s, Drinking, Fingering, Humiliation kink, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, dirty bathroom hookups in multiple senses of the word, immortal fuckbuddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25561954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningsofGold/pseuds/MorningsofGold
Summary: An uptight angel and an incubus demon blow off a little centuries-old steam in a nightclub bathroom.
Relationships: angel/demon - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Little Vices

The angel bellied up to the bar, threw down his crumpled cash, and ordered an old fashioned. He did this with a sort of rehearsed fluency, the product of countless hours spent observing humans and their little quirks. He’s got it right down to the flick of his wrist and the way he rests his weight on his hip and leans his elbow against the battered bar. It’s become muscle memory at this point, almost natural, like seeing his tanned face and blonde hair whenever he passed mirrors. New recruits who weren't used to corporeal forms and the limitations of limbs often moved with startling, animal motion or a sort of jerky stiffness, both of which were equally disconcerting to humans. But Ezra had been working deep cover in American urban centers for decades, and on assignment all over the world for centuries before that. He was more familiar with the inside of dive bars than he was the threshold of heaven’s gates, at this point.

The music in the nightclub is loud enough to vibrate through his stomach and dull his senses. He’s been here since ten, minding his own business and nursing watery cocktails and making sure that no one gets into too much trouble. Plenty of city centers have angelic powers appointed to watch over them, and this is his domain, his charge. Not a bad beat, although if you’ve seen one large city you’ve seen them all. There’s nothing left on the Earth that can surprise a creature as old as him.

Ezra feels someone move behind him, smooth and sinuous, and touch the small of his back with a light hand. The stranger sits down next to him. He tenses involuntarily.

Well. Almost nothing.

"Cornelius," he says, not looking up from his drink. Focus. He needs to focus. He’s working tonight, and needs to keep his wits about him in case anything goes wrong in the club.

"You look a little pale, baby," the demon says, snagging the cherry out of his cocktail with black-manicured fingers. Golden midi rings wink as he brings the cherry to his mouth and passes it between smiling lips. "Like you've seen a ghost."

"I've definitely seen someone who may have as well been dead to me," Ezra says drolly, looking up to meet Cornelius' eyes. They’re the same shifting blue-black that had haunted him across centuries, so cold they scorched.

"I'm hurt, I was only gone a century or so."

"What happened to you, anyway?"

"Oh you know how it is," Cornelius says lightly, or as lightly as one could while shouting to be heard over the blare of house music. "You seduce one too many of the wrong people while on the job and the devil gets pissy. Personally I think I was going above and beyond in my incubus duties, but corporate didn't agree with me, and no amount of eyelash-batting got me out of disciplinary action."

He’s cut his hair a little shorter since the last time they saw each other. It’s still that raven color he favored in his corporeal forms, with a slight curl that kisses his cheekbone as it swept over one of his eyes. It’s been shaved short in the back, and Ezra suddenly wonders what it might feel like to run his hands along the curved edge of Cornelius' skull.

He curls his hands tighter around his drink and keeps his hands to himself.

  
"What are you doing here, Cornelius?"

"Do I need a reason to drop in on my favorite angel?" The incubus asks, butter-smooth. He's wearing a mesh shirt that's less of a shirt than it is a complement to the elaborate harness of thin leather straps he's wearing underneath. Ezra wishes that it didn't look good on him, but Cornelius knows how to play to his strengths.

“Are you going to finish that?” The demon asks, fingers darting for Ezra’s drink. The angel snatches the glass away, putting back half the drink in one go to keep it away from Cornelius. At least he tells himself that’s why. Not to steel himself against the storm that’s inevitably coming.

“Let me buy you another,” Cornelius says, already flagging down the bartender.

“No,” Ezra says as a short of lukewarm, neat whiskey is set down in front of him. Cornelius smiles, and his grin is all teeth and sticky malice. Somehow the shot glass is in Ezra’s fingers, heavy and cool.

“We can share it if it's too much for you,” Cornelius purrs.

Ezra scowls and puts away the whiskey in one go, savoring the burn all the way down. It makes him feel all the more rooted to this corporeal form, the one he’s been wearing for years. It’s started to feel dangerously like him, and he’s gotten used to it’s whims and limitations and wants. It’s lusts.

Cornelius smiles at him. He looks like a vision underneath the flashing strobes, creamy skin and sharp cheekbones catching the lights like they were strung to illuminate him.  
That's his job, Ezra reminds himself. Cornelius is always supposed to look irresistible, good enough to eat. He's supposed to be a walking temptation, the same way Ezra is supposed to be a walking stopgap against bad decisions, a sentinel posed to save people from the demons of their worse nature.

Unfortunately, Cornelius is the demon of his worse nature. And they both know it.

Cornelius puts his mouth close to Ezra's ear, so close Ezra can almost feel a forked tongue tickling the delicate shell of his ear.

"Why don't you and I go someplace a little quieter?"

Ezra is out of his seat before he can protest. Cornelius snags his hand and leads him through the crowd, bobbing and weaving like he's been in this club a thousand times before. He's at home in any place sinning is likely to happen. Ezra isn't sure if this counts as sin, strictly, since neither of them are tied to human conceptions of morality, but it certainly feels like it ranks.

The bathroom isn’t as crowded as it could be, but there are definitely witnesses as Cornelius pulls Ezra into a stall after him. The instant the door is closed, Cornelius’ hands are all over him, his lips ghosting across his jaw. He fumbles with Ezra’s belt buckle and kisses him hard on the mouth.

Ezra savors the sensation, the taste of berry cosmopolitans and brimstone, and then he snatches the demon’s hands by the wrist. He holds him there while somebody bangs on the door to the stall and is summarily ignored.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock in a dirty bathroom?” Cornelius asks, pouting a bit. He’s got a slightly oversized upper lip, perfect for biting.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth.”

Cornelius lets out a peal of taunting laughter that goes right to Ezra’s dick.

“You’re one to talk.”

Ezra turns Cornelius around and holds him against the stall, one hand pressing him down by the neck while the other unzips the tight mesh shirt. He shoves it down around Cornelius’s waist so he can better appreciate the contrast of the black harness against his pale skin.

“Did you wear this for me?” He asks. His tongue is loose from the whiskey and he’s probably going to say some things he regrets tonight, but the thought sends a sick thrill through his stomach all the same.

“There are a lot of people in this bar,” Cornelius huffs. A high color was rising in his cheeks.  
Ezra runs his free hand down the curve of the demon’s back, savoring the shudder he feels jolt down Cornelius’ spine. It’s a leftover impulse from the war on heaven: to subdue. This makes his lust Biblical, in a way, an echo of Michael wresting control from Lucifer, but he’s not going to kid himself into thinking there’s anything holy about this.

“None of them are me. You came here looking to get fucked, didn’t you?”

Cornelius writhes in his grasp like a snake, but Ezra doesn’t let him go. He just takes in the shorn nape of his neck, the curve of his back, the inviting shape of his ass through those tight leather pants. The demon nods.

“Say it,” Ezra says, pressing harder. The angelic instincts are hard to stamp down. He wants to put Cornelius in his place, strike him down and send him packing right to hell. But he also wants him, plain and simple, and that treacherous human emotion is clouding his judgement.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to let me fuck you where all these people can hear you?”

Somebody bangs on the stall door again, shouting at them to hurry up. But the music is blaring loud and there’s laughter in the bathroom as well, and Ezra is floating on whiskey and a power high. He’s not going to hurry anything. He isn’t going to let Cornelius out of this stall until he’s learned his lesson about invading enemy territory and expecting a warm welcome. There are turf lines for a reason.

“Yes,” Cornelius huffs, voice fuzzy at the edges.

This will only feed Cornelius, Ezra knows, top up the internal tank of sexual energy that sustains him. It’s what he's made for, seduction and its aftermath. But Ezra’s blood is singing, and he’s not sure that doing this won’t feed him too, strengthen some impulse to bring evil to heel inside him. Even if the evil is his old friend and sometimes fuckbuddy. Strictly off-record of course. Cornelius especially likes enticing him into a hookup while he’s on the clock, and Ezra won’t be living this one down for a while.

Ezra tugs down the back of Cornelius’ pants, practically having to peel the tight material off. Cornelius isn’t wearing anything underneath. Of course he isn’t.

"Spread," Ezra orders, voice rough around the edges with want. God, he shouldn't be doing this, not again. But maybe it's all for the best. Maybe this is what Cornelius needs to teach him a lesson about overstepping boundaries.

That's what Ezra tells himself as he presses a warm finger against Cornelius' asshole, eliciting a hiss of pleasure from the demon. Ezra grabs his ass with his free hand, pressing against him so he can feel how hard the angel is. How hard he’s been since the moment Cornelius sat down beside him.

He works him gently and then more intently until Cornelius is taking his finger easily, keening and arching his back against Ezra like he's being paid to do it. Like he's on camera. Ezra usually wouldn't think about things like that, or at least he'd try not to. But Cornelius does a number on him. His very presence drags him all the way down into the dirt, makes him love it in a way that sullies more than his reputation.

“Look at you,” Ezra murmurs into Cornelius’ hair. His finger goes in and out, probing deeper. “So fucking filthy, spread for me in a bathroom stall.”

“Fuck,” Cornelius groans. Someone rattles the door to the stall, and Ezra can feel the vibration through Cornelius’ body. They give up moments later, once it becomes apparent what’s happening inside.

“Wanna…” Cornelius gasps, his pretty mouth already red and swollen from biting his lips. “I want to suck you off.”

“Then get on your knees and impress me.”

The roles are familiar, and they fit them both like a second skin. This game has been going on for centuries, and it always goes the same way. Cornelius as the one who instigates the exchange, Ezra as the one who directs and finishes it. It makes him feel better, to be in control. Like he’s running some deep cover operation for the most high, and not like he’s succumbing to a smooth voice and batted eyelashes in a dirty human bar.

We all justify our ways to God and men, one way or another

Cornelius looks like he belongs on the ground, wetting his lips while kneeling on the cracked tile of a nightclub bathroom.

Ezra's breath catches, the sight is so beautiful. It's been a long time since anyone did this for him. Well, since Cornelius did this. Cornelius is the only release Ezra really allows himself. Anything else would be a distraction from his charge. But this…

Cornelius closes his mouth around Ezra's engorged cock, sucking with a sweet little hum like it's a lollipop, and _this_. This is heavenly.

Ezra sucks air through his teeth and tangles his fingers in the demon's hair, urging him forward, faster and faster. He guides his head relentlessly enough that Cornelius gags a couple of times, but the demon knows what he's doing, and Ezra is positive he's taken bigger.

Cornelius fucks him expertly with his mouth, tongue circling the tip as his agile hand works the base relentlessly. Ezra is by definition unkillable; if his mortal vessel became too badly damaged to use he would simply conjure another one, but he feels like he's dying right now, just a little bit. The sensation is by no means unpleasant.

"That's enough," Ezra groans, and hauls Cornelius up by the shirt collar. He pushes him against the stall and kisses him, savoring the salt of skin and the sweetness of the cherry the demon had eaten minutes ago. He kisses him like he's staving off death, like Cornelius is water in the desert, digging his fingers into the demon's hips hard enough to bruise. Cornelius kisses him back, all teeth and breathless laughter. He wraps a hand around both their cocks, erect between their pressed bodies. Cornelius jacks them against each other, and such sweet, needy noises rise up from Cornelius' throat that Ezra thinks he might finish right there, if they aren't careful.

Ezra yanks at Cornelius' pants and they're discarded a moment later, hung up over the door to warn off anybody stupid or drunk enough to try the door again. There's a salacious whoop in the distance, but Ezra ignores it. Let them hear. He only ever encounters Cornelius a few times a decade, and he lets himself succumb even less than that.

Ezra drops his pants to his ankles. Cornelius braces his back against the locked stall door and his foot against the toilet, raising a knee invitingly. They've done this before in tighter spaces, and the arrangement is familiar.

Ezra hisses as he presses the head of his cock against Cornelius's tight hole, taking it slow and savoring every inch. The demon digs his nails into Ezra's back like the hellion he is, cooing and urging him on with sweet nothings that make Ezra want to clamp his hand around Cornelius' mouth.

Cornelius laughs while he fucks him, breathless, stuttering laughs of pure, unadulterated pleasure. This is when he’s at his most powerful, when his partner is driving into him with no intention of stopping until they melt into one another. Even Ezra knows that right now, Cornelius has all the power.

He decides he isn’t going down without a fight, however.

“Turn around,” Ezra orders. Cornelius obeys obligingly and Ezra kicks his legs apart. One satisfied with his stance, Ezra holds on to Cornelius’ narrow waist, and enters him again from behind, not stopping until their bodies are entirely flush together. Ezra stops there, savoring the feeling of being deep inside his favorite demon, making him wait for it.

Cornelius huffs and wiggles around on the cock, trying to press up against that sweet spot. Ezra holds him down firmer.

“I don’t think so. My rules. My pace.”

“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

Ezra pulls in and out of him once, savoring every agonizing instant of the thrust. Cornelius groans from low in his throat. Almost a growl.

“It’s what I’m saying now. If you want it, you’re going to have to beg.”

“I’m not going to do that and we both know it.”

“You sure?”

Ezra rotates his hips slowly, hitting every nerve ending in Cornelius’ body.

“Oh God,” the demon moans.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Ezra said, and rocks his cock in and out of Cornelius’ body just a few inches at a time. Working him open wider without giving him the deep, thorough fuck he was after.

“Come on,” Cornelius keens. “Don’t be mean.”

“Beg.”

“No.”

Ezra reaches around and squeezes Cornelius’s cock, pumping him a few times in his hands before abandoning him altogether.

“Fuck, please do that again,” Cornelius says, forehead pressed against the grafittied door. “Don’t leave me like this, please just fuck me.”

“That’s my good little slut. Come on, say it louder so all those people can hear you.”

Cornelius shudders, and Ezra worries for a moment that he’s already come. But he’s still erect and slick, needy as he was a moment ago.

“Fuck me, Ezra. Please,” he begs, pressing into Ezra’s cock as much as he can while still being held down. “Fuck me so everybody can hear me.”

That’s all Ezra needs, which is just as well, because he wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. He fucks Cornelius steady and deep, holding onto his hips while he picks up a rhythm. He gasps while he takes the demon, who writhes against the stall and blathers out an incomprehensible stream of pleading. Some of it is in English, and some of it is in other languages. Ezra keeps his promise and works Cornelius with his hand in teasing, firm swipes, never quite letting him finish. Not yet.

They don’t last long like this, and as Ezra feels himself approach an orgasm, he just holds Cornelius tighter, pressing their bodies so tight together that there’s nothing but sweat between them. He comes with a groan, pressing up into Cornelius as he explodes, and the demon follows suit a few seconds later.

Spent, Ezra sags against the demon, but there isn’t much time for kissing or cuddling. People are starting to get rowdy outside, shouting lewd comments and threatening to have security come open the door if they don’t hurry up and open it.

“You fuck me so good,” Cornelius groans, and then lets out one of those blithe, slithering laughs. “Like an angel.”

He wiggles out of Ezra’s grasp and expertly cleans off himself and part of the door he made a mess of. Then he kisses the angel on the mouth. Well, it’s less of a kiss as it is a love bite. The promise of next time.

“See you in a century or so,” he says, and slips out of the stall and into the crowd. Instantly, Ezra loses sight of him as the shadows, his true home, swallow him up. He’s left feeling very sheepish alone in the bathroom stall with his belt still unbuckled, a line of irritated men looking him up and down.

For weeks afterwards, whenever he thinks about the encounter, his bottom lip will throb.


End file.
